


Couldn't, Couldn't

by astr0cat



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Im pretty tired, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-13 00:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9096547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astr0cat/pseuds/astr0cat
Summary: He wanted to go home, back to feigned happiness, ride that whim of plastic joy, the plastic that tried to be pristine glass. Back to where Rick was just in his garage making things he couldn't fathom, where the disease was held at bay because he was safe, because they were alive, because-





	

It was a stupid, fleeting decision that had left them both in a temporary state of paralysis. A state that leveled the balance that Libra held until it tipped down into the dark.

 

A drop of scarlet cascaded down his cheek, chestnut eyes wide open to the sick world. It was not a choice but an instinct with no thought.

 

It would be the death of them both.

 

Rusty morning glories perked up from the cement of the alien street, copper staining its ashen surface with a sticky, unforgiving stench. They would be mourning.

 

Paranoia edged at the black filled sides of his vision, grasping him and tinkering with his movements. Despite his ears being filled with cotton, same for his throat, he still heard the echoed and strained groans of discomfort and pain. 

 

A shot through the stomach in the drop of a penny.

 

It was all too fast and he couldn't handle it, couldn't move fast enough, couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't couldn’t.

 

A withered palm shot up from the ground and grasped at his too weak, too slow arm, grasping so tightly that it hurt. The arm belonged to a shoulder which was owned by a neck, a pair of lips speaking out something he just couldn't make out, couldnt couldnt-

 

Another shot rang through the air, hitting him this time and forcing him to teeter onto his side beside the dying body he had previously been attempting to aid.

 

Oh God, it hurt, it hurt. If he couldn't think twenty seconds ago then he sure as hell couldn't now. 

 

Buzzing pain, it numbed his thoughts, all but one. With that single inkling of intellect, he grasped at his now punctured lung, reaching out to the scientist before him and willing his body not to drown in the red just yet but he couldn't, couldn't.

 

It was alright though because that same pale, withered, pearl palm slowly slipped away and landed into his reaching grasp. There was a twitch, maybe it could have been an attempted grasp, maybe maybe.

 

He heaved out a shuddering breath, grabbing at cold fingers with his own, the warmth he once wielded slowly fading to the same ice the fist in his hold carried.

 

Festering memories, festering nightmares, festering thoughts. They boiled into a disgusting disease that made his breath hitch until it pooled out around him.

 

A disgusting, festering, revolting sickness that had sprouted out from his mind and captured them both in its grasp. Forcing its cruel touch of a heart upon them until they were torn and shredded.

 

And oh God, it hurt, it hurt.

 

Already his mind reeled on the last ounces of adrenaline it had packed away, sprinting through his veins in a vain attempt to restore lost life.

 

The body before him was still, cold, frozen. No sarcasm dripped from biting lips, no remark to make about how droll or how petty this situation was, no statement of how bad Morty had fucked up this time because he had. He had fucked up so badly.

 

Couldn't just be quiet, had to trip on a rock, had to drop the box, had to yelp, couldn't just follow simplicities. Couldn't couldn’t.

 

Already his eyelids threatened to slip to a permanent shut but he wouldn't let them, had to see the rest of Rick's life drain from his pained gaze. Darkness engulfed his sight, the corpse before him the only item visible. 

 

Face frozen into one of grief as it glanced over in the direction of him, dead eyes as glossy as a scale, skin like that of leather; cold to the touch.

 

How could he? He's dead, he's dead, he's dead.

 

He's just laying there and he's not waking up and Morty doesn't know what to do because oh God, it hurts, it hurts and he can't think and his mind is too fuzzy and he's dying now too and he just can't. 

 

_He couldn't. Couldn't._

 

How would he get out of here anyways with a skeleton for a grandpa? With a gaping hole for lung? He was drowning on his own disease, crawling to a fake light.

 

Why couldn't he just...couldn't…?

 

He wanted to go home, back to feigned happiness, ride that whim of plastic joy, the plastic that tried to be pristine glass. Back to where Rick was just in his garage making things he couldn't fathom, where the disease was held at bay because he was safe, because they were alive, because-

 

Wheezes passed his lips, replacing his once easy breaths, forcing his heart to die a little more. Was this it? This was it.

 

His strength faltered for a second, grip slacking on the palm he once held, fingers dipping down to the ground beside them. He could swear he saw a tear slip down the alcoholic’s face but he was too far gone, too _dead._

 

The things he would do just to hear that voice again were vast and endless, what he would do just to feel that closed fist on his hand. 

 

But he couldn't because he was in front of Death’s picket fence, walking up to the door, knocking on its brittle and frozen surface.

 

How he wanted to make things okay, to not have fucked up but he couldnt, couldnt.

 

And _oh God_ , it hurt.


End file.
